Lately the Boy Terror has been unbelievably cute. Like, scoop him up, sprinkle him with sparkles cute.
Last week at dinner I asked him what we should get his sister for her birthday. He thought about it a moment, and then put down his fork, slid off his chair, and came to whisper in my ear. "A PRINCESS" spit hiss slobber. Then back to his chair, to pick up his fork and continue his dinner. Girl Terror pretended she hadn't heard. Quite a feat, when I suspect you could have been in the far reaches of the house and still caught most of it.
To have a bit of fun with him, I asked (out loud) "A real one?!" He looked at me and sighed. Put down his fork. Wiggled down off his chair. Came over to my ear. And whispered "NO". Back to the chair, fork, dinner.
I think his cuteness right now is due to the fact that in two days, he is done daycare. Forever. In the fall, he will be a Big Boy, and he will go to school. My baby is going to be a school kid! I know I had trouble letting go of Girl Terror, but she was so very clearly ready and eager. This child, however, is my little one. My snuggly, squishy cheeked baby.
Earlier this week he informed me that he is now going to call his father "Dad". Not "Daddy". He is, after all, a Big Boy, and it seems like the right time to make the change. I did not break down and sob.
As a teacher, I love the education system. School is where children grow and learn, and become interesting people. As a Mummy, however, school is where my sweet boy will learn some very bad words, he will hear all about shows I haven't let him watch, and he'll grow up and away from me. I'm not ready to let him go.